


A Hogwarts Christmas Carol

by Cosbrarian



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas at Hogwarts, Gen, Ghost James Potter, Good Severus Snape, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Professors, Homage, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Slytherin, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28243437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosbrarian/pseuds/Cosbrarian
Summary: In December, 1990, Severus Snape reckons with the ghosts of his past and present, as he negotiates a future haunted by Harry Potter.[Naturally, after the Christmas rush, my writing mojo left me a bit, but I have every intention of finishing this and am in progress on Chapter 2!]
Kudos: 3





	A Hogwarts Christmas Carol

A Hogwarts Christmas Carol

I HAVE endeavored in this Ghostly little fanfic, to raise the Ghost of an Idea. May it haunt the fandom pleasantly.

Your faithful Friend and Potterhead,

L.G.

~*~  
STAVE 1  
December, 1990

“Voldemort is dead, to begin with.”

Snape looked down at The Daily Prophet with disgust. The paper had been introducing memorial coverage of the Wizarding War in anticipation of the tenth anniversary of the Dark Lord’s death. The anniversary was months away, but the Prophet didn’t need much of a reason to squeeze whatever story it could out of the devastating events that ended the eleven-year conflict. This week, it was an interview with Cornelius Fudge, a junior minister at the Ministry of Magic. “There is no doubt whatsoever about that, so any speculation you hear is hogwash.” Fudge continued, responding to questions put forth by the Prophet’s gossip reporter. “Voldemort is as dead as a doornail.”

Snape grunted and shoved the paper away. Fudge would say whatever he could to position himself as a hopeful for the soon-to-be-vacated position of Minister. The government had stuck by the position that Voldemort had died the night he attacked the Potter family. They wanted the wizarding community to feel safe, to have faith in their leadership, and as years passed and the Dark Lord made no reappearance, most were satisfied to think the evil man was gone for good.

Snape wanted to believe that was true as well. He had been among the dark wizard’s most trusted followers for some years, and while he had turned away from the Death Eaters, the sign on his arm that claimed him as Voldemort’s own couldn’t be removed. He wore his sleeves long to block it from view, and filled his days with work in and out of the classroom. He had to keep busy to avoid recalling the disastrous choices he’d made as a younger man, aligning himself with murderers and the monster who led them.

Because of this former allegiance, those who knew Snape, for the most part, still viewed him with a wary eye. And who could blame them? Snape was a piece of work. Miserable, touchy, pompous - a real tosser. As a teacher, he was hard and sharp as flint; as a man he was secret, self-contained, and solitary as a boggart. Coldness froze his fine features, nipped his hooked nose, hollowed his cheek, stiffened his gait; penetrated his dark eyes; and aired itself shrewdly in his icy voice. He carried frost with him in his very bones, and it wafted from the shadows of his capacious black robes. 

The winter holidays were a coveted time for Snape, but not for the reason most looked forward to their arrival. It was the time of year when the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were blessedly silent after three long months of adolescents scrabbling and squawking. A period when most students and some staff returned home, and Snape could luxuriate in their absence.

This Christmas Eve, he wasn’t quite alone, however. Snape peered through the open door of his office to his potions classroom beyond, glaring at a flash of red hair. Percy Weasley, the school’s most cloying suck-up, was soaking up every last second of the semester for a chance at impressing -- well, anyone he could. It was very clear the fourth-year student had his sights set on a prefect position, and having exhausted every other avenue for house points and extra credit, he showed up at Snape’s door offering his services. If the headmaster hadn’t been sitting in with him that very moment, Snape would have shown the door to Percy’s face. But Albus Dumbledore was bemused at the boy’s gumption. So Snape witheringly assigned the boy to cauldron cleaning, and decided to take a smidgeon of glee in working the boy till he dropped.

The doors to the potions classroom clattered open. “Merry Christmas, Percy! Still at it, are you?” The sparklingly cheerful voice of herbology Professor Pomona Sprout brightened the murky dungeon. “Isn’t it about time you head home for your holiday?”

“Just as soon as I scrub the shine back in this iron, Professor Sprout!” The Weasley boy’s usual eagerness was starting to fade slightly, and why wouldn’t it? He’d been cleaning the same cauldrons for three days straight, as Snape had cunningly charmed them to re-rust themselves each morning the boy showed his irritating grin at the door.

“You’ll work the boys fingers right off his hands, Severus,” Pomona bemused, walking up to his office door with a stunning garland. Its evergreen scent lifted the air, crimson holly berries shone from its branches, and she’d bewitched its lengths to sparkle as if dusted with starlight. “And Merry Christmas to you, my friend.” She raised her wand from the folds of her mossy cape and the garland alighted itself along the eaves just above Snape’s desk.

“Christmas? Ugh, for pity’s sake, Pomona, I know why you’re here.” Snape drawled, flicking a fallen holly berry off his immaculate black cuff. He glowered at his colleague. 

“That’s right, my good man, we would love to see you tomorrow night at the greenhouse!” Pomona, head of Hufflepuff House and exuberantly full of its warm and friendly spirit, hosted an annual supper for staff residing at the school over the holidays. It was an evening bursting with food and drink, buzzing with chatter and song, and particularly infamous for its riotous games. In other words, Snape’s worst nightmare. 

“Why do you all insist on this frivolous evening of merry-making every year?” Snape’s voice bent in disdain.

Pomona laughed and it seemed as if the yuletide garland tittered with her. “What better time of the year for frivolity and merry-making, Severus? It’s Christmas!”

“I see no cause for celebration. You are all here for the same, sad reason. A school full of spinsters and rejected old bachelors, with no one to go home for.”

Pomona’s voice sharpened but she didn’t lose her smile. “More the reason for merry-making - we have each other!”

Snape was keenly aware of Percy Weasley’s ears pricking up at a chance to hear whatever staff gossip he might leverage for his own advancement someday. Snape arched one black eyebrow as he caught the boy staring, and Percy buried his face deep in the cauldron to attend his scourging spell harder. Snape rolled his eyes and returned to Pomona. “You keep Christmas your way, and I’ll keep it mine.”

“Keep it?” Pomona practically sang. “But you don’t keep it!”

“Well what is it to you?” Snape’s exasperation brought him to his feet. And despite his significant height on her, Pomona didn’t waver, even as he leered fiercely as a hawk. “What good has it ever done you?”

“I may appear to be a lonely little old woman,” Pomona quietly but solidly retorted. “But I welcome this time of year as a celebration of the family I have found here at Hogwarts. For most of the year, we walk the halls of this school in solitude, and must find ourselves at opposite corners, tending to our students and shacked up in our Houses. But once a year, I can look forward to an evening when we forget our woes, pause from the daily drudgery, and remind ourselves of the humanity and heart connecting us in our wonderful little community. And therefore Christmas does do me good, and will do me good. And I cherish it!”

Beyond the door, Percy Weasley clapped his hands together, the sound muffled a bit by his fingerless gloves. “Brava, Professor!”

“Can it, Weasley!” Snape growled, and the cauldrons clattered in response.

“Easy on the boy!” Pomona chided softly, before looking the potions professor up and down with a touch of sadness. “Well, Severus, you know where to find us if you change your mind. And I hope you do.” She turned on her heel, and gave Percy a wave. “You have a lovely holiday, son.” And she was gone. 

Snape flicked his wand irritably and the garland flew from the ceiling into the fire with a thwack, stardust bursting in the flames in a tiny explosion. When Snape turned back to the door, Percy Weasley was waiting expectantly.

“Everything is good as new, Professor.” The boy told him. “And I do think Professor Sprout is correct and I must get to packing for the trip home.” He waited expectantly, and when Snape brushed past him with a dismissive wave, he cleared his throat. 

Snape paused and turned back, deathly slow, and radiating impatience. “You’ll be wanting house points, I suppose?”

Percy swallowed loudly. “Well, it IS Christmas, sir.”

“A poor excuse for seeking a reward you’ve barely earned.” Snape held up a cauldron, and savored the boy’s indignant choke as it mucked itself up in front of his eyes. “Get out of my dungeon, Weasley, before I am tempted to deduct Gryffindor points as a gift for myself.” He allowed the ghost of a smile to pass his lips as the boy scuttled away with skinny shoulders slumped.

~*~  
After working into the evening, Snape took supper in the Great Hall, thankful for the time to enjoy Hogwarts’ sumptuous feasts free of the small talk and disciplinary duties of the usual school meal. Or so he had hoped. As his last plate disappeared, he looked up to see the headmaster watching him from the doorway. “Good evening, Severus.” Albus Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. Dumbledore reflected the very picture of St. Nick among the flanked Christmas Trees and enchanted snowfall.

“If you’ve come to encourage me to join tomorrow’s festivities, Pomona has already harassed me.” Snape took a long sip of mulled wine, girding himself for more seasonal speechifying. 

“Not at all.” Albus took his time approaching the staff tables, and when he sat down, a second mug was awaiting him. “Though I find it impossible to avoid feeling festive when walking the grounds. Our elves truly bring the season to life.” He held a hand aloft to catch a snowflake, though the charm vanished before alighting. He turned his attention back to Snape. “I presume you received the roster of students we’ll be gifting invitations for the next school year?”

If Snape could have cocooned himself like a bat, he would have. “Yes. What of it?”

Dumbledore merely gazed in silence. Snape inwardly squirmed under the calm scrutiny, infuriated that the man could eek through his composure. “I am a man of my word, Albus. Though after ten years of silence, I’m not sure that there’s the urgency for the boy’s safety that you feared.”

Dumbledore raised his white brow as if to consider. “Even if you are beginning to believe Voldemort is truly gone, you must recognize that it won’t be an easy time for Harry Potter. Having lived a life of obscurity, he is about to be the front page of every wizarding tabloid and under constant scrutiny by his peers. Every member of my staff has been instructed to help Harry ease into life here at Hogwarts.” 

Snape bristled. “I don’t aim to give any student special treatment because of his family name. Not even The Boy Who Lived.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly. “None of us here can be upheld for avoiding special treatment with students.” He gestured to the entrance of the Great Hall, outside of which the colorful orbs of the House Points Hourglass could be spied. “Speaking of which, Slytherin House is once again doing quite well this year. Your students continue to outperform.”

Snape shifted in his seat before rising. “I get your point,” he sniffed. “Regardless of my feelings about the fate of the Dark Lord, it is unnecessary to be concerned for the Potter boy’s welfare. He has remained protected with Petunia Dursley these many years, and Hogwarts is an even safer place for a wizard to be. I doubt you will need me to act as the boy’s bodyguard. I will measure him on his performance as a student but seek to spend no more of my time or concentration on his well being. I bid you goodnight.”

Albus nodded. “We will revisit this, Severus. But in the meantime, have a Happy Christmas.” 

~*~  
As head of Slytherin House, Snape resided in a private flat opposite the students’ common room. Tonight even his own beloved House seemed to mock him. The corridor’s emerald sconces, which washed the halls in a green glow every day, were particularly bright with an unnaturally warm hue, leading Snape to ponder why the Christmas spirit was so intently haunting him this year. 

As he walked the long corridor, his heels echoing in the emptiness, the more he felt there was indeed something off about the usual atmosphere. He stopped a few paces in, and looked around him slowly. 

To his right, a lamp glowed brighter than the others. Snape narrowed his eyes at it, then gaped as the flame of the next lamp burst anew, then another and another, until the length of the corridor blazed in a sinister flicker of flames. 

“Filch?” Snape muttered, assuming the caretaker had been instructed to add extra illumination for holiday cheer. But as soon as his voice echoed back to him, the flames dimmed down simultaneously, and the corridor appeared back to normal. Snape took a measured look around him again, before approaching the door of his flat with a huff.

The ancient walnut door was carved with crisscrossing serpents, and adorned with a copper knocker of Salazar Slytherin’s face. Snape removed his wand to unlock it, but before “Alohomora” could pass his lips, he stared. For the face in the knocker before him was not stone, but alive. And it was not Salazar’s, but a face he hadn’t looked into for nearly ten years.

He stumbled back, aghast. Then as he blinked, the knocker seemed to return to itself, the green tint of the copper lifeless as before, in Salazar’s familiar mold.

Now Snape was truly rattled. In a castle full of ghosts and wizards, strangeness was rather the norm. But this mayhem was beginning to feel pointed. He stuttered through the spell, barely registering the click of the lock, then cursed himself for his own cowardice. “Ruddy Peeves,” he cursed. Normally the presence of the Bloody Baron was enough to keep the pranking poltergeist out of Slytherin, but he must have become emboldened - or bored - with the lack of students to pester. Nonetheless, Snape poured himself a balm of brandy.

The dungeons had a particular chill about them tonight, and Snape stoked the fire more fervently than usual. He pulled his armchair closer to the hearth, and grasped the corners of a well-worn copy of Bathilda Bagshot’s The Decline of Pagan Magic. A few pages in, his shoulders finally relaxed, and the worn cushions of his favorite reading spot gave a bit more as he leaned in.

“Always the party animal, eh Snivellus?”

Snape stiffened and slowly rose, lifting his wand in defense. His knuckles turned white as he grasped to hide the tremble in his hand. “Show yourself!” he snapped, staking out each corner of the room.

Murkily, and taking its time, the speaker materialized out of the drapery, candlelight creating an aura about their shape. A long, lean form, a mischievous smirk, messy hair falling over his forehead, with wire-rimmed glasses resting on a long nose. The substance of his form was faded, a grayed out version of a person, but dark hair and hazel eyes were brought to life by the reflection of the firelight. The man opened his arms and splayed long fingers in a dry display of showmanship. “Surprise.”

Nostrils flaring, Snape kept his wand aloft, but fear was quickly transfigured into anger. His voice came out in an affronted hiss. “James Potter, what the devil are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d check in on my old school chum. You know, it’s been a bit since I’ve enjoyed calling on friends for the season.” James took a look around, acclimating himself. He spied a cluster of Christmas cards tossed on a side table. “Oh, it’s Christmas!” He cleared his throat and stood more formally. “Shall I sing you a carol? Judging on the barebones of your flat, you don’t seem to be one for ‘Decking the Halls’ --”

“POTTER, SHUT. UP.” Snape sputtered, throwing aside his book and stalking toward the spirit with unbridled malevolence. “Oh this is like you, isn’t it? Playing tricks, poking your face through my knocker like a loon, trying to frighten me with fireworks. And now, what? Missed making my life a misery? Couldn’t resist another jab from the grave?”

James raised his hands in defense, though neither was certain each could have any violent effect on the other. “I’m being an arse. But I think I’ve earned a bit of fun. You’ll recall I was violently murdered the last time I was here, no thanks to your loud mouth.” 

“What are you doing here?” Snape repeated, exasperation mixing with plea. “Have you been haunting me since you died? Why would you tether yourself to me?”

James’ voice darkened and he brushed past Snape dismissively. “Get over yourself, you pompous prat, you think I’d want to spend an eternity with you?” As he approached the hearth, flames of the fire grew, mixing teal and cobalt among the amber. “I didn’t choose a ghost’s afterlife, but you can bet if I did, I’d have ensured my time would be spent with Harry!” 

The boy’s name hung over them both, and with it dawned an understanding between them. “Is he here?” James asked tentatively.

“No.” Snape snapped, then almost regretted shutting the man down so quickly. He softened his tone. “He enrolls next year.”

If Snape were ever to experience a twinge of pity for his boyhood nemesis, it was at that moment, as James folded in on himself, crestfallen. “So it’s been ten years.” He sadly smiled to himself. “I bet he’s already a thriving magician. He was showing such promise as a mere babe.” A shadow crossed the spirit’s brow. “Where is Sirius raising him, then?”

Snape pressed his lips together. It would be so satisfying to take James down with each horrible morsel of information the man didn’t get to carry over after death. He kept his voice neutral, though. “Sirius is in Azkaban. Your son is with Lily’s sister.”

“WHAT?” James roared, and the fire seemed to roar with him, adding to his bluster. “How? How could Dumbledore let those monsters take in Harry? And Sirius, in prison? Sirius -- and not YOU?”

“He killed thirteen people, Potter! Twelve muggles and Pettigrew!” Snape retorted. 

James blanched. “What? That doesn’t make any sense! I --” 

“I’m not about to spend all night catching you up on the decade, Potter.” Snape interrupted acidly. “Your son is fine. Dumbledore put him with your in-laws for a reason, and his reasons are always good. And soon he’ll be here with some of Britain's finest wizards doting on him.”

James looked unsatisfied, but he focused on Snape with new alertness. “Harry has to be the reason I am here tonight,” he declared. “Perhaps I’m in Hell, chained to watching Voldemort’s former lackey have a greater hand in raising my son than I’ve been granted.” He rubbed his chin as he tried to suss out the answer. “But Dumbledore trusts you, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” He held out an accusatory finger. “Maybe you’re the one who has to set things right. You do have a lot to set right, you know.” 

Snape scoffed, refusing to let James guilt him. “You weren’t a saint yourself.”

“Are you actually going to compare my being a bully to you being a bigot?” James seemed to grow with his anger, and once again the glow in the room grew with him as he advanced on Snape. “Whatever sin I carry with me, you carry tenfold. Certainly, I could have been kinder to you. But I was a child, Severus, and I grew out of it. You? You grew into a backstabber and a criminal. And even your repentance, your romantic change of heart, came out of selfishness. What did you think would happen, Severus, if Voldemort had just offed me and my son? Did you think Lily would find consolation in your arms? The arms of the man who betrayed us to the worst wizard alive?” James grasped Snape’s left wrist, surprising them both with this sudden corporeal ability, and he raised the man’s arm so his robe sleeve fell back, revealing the shameful Dark Mark. 

“My motivation was true!” Snape was backed into a corner. James had always been a powerful presence as a mere mortal. Death only seemed to broaden him. “I would remove this cursed brand if I could - I have bound myself to serving Albus, and I continue to do so to this day!”

“Good.” James dropped his hand but he didn’t back away. “Then make your oath to me. Promise me you will protect Harry.”

Snape scoffed. “I owe you nothing further, Potter. And I am not about to make a special case for your special boy, who is likely predisposed to an aura of self-importance, considering his patriarch.”

“Then don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself, and make up for the years you served Voldemort.” 

Snape turned away from him. “I already paid the price for that ten times over.” He said quietly. 

“Then do it for Lily.”

Snape closed his eyes as if to ward off those words. It was now her name that hung in the air, and it was a moment before Snape could push it out of his mind to reply. But when he turned back to face James, he found himself alone, with the fire snuffed to smoke.


End file.
